The promise of Autumn

Autumn has arrived in Sydney and with it cool mornings and nights – although this weekend we are set for another blast of heat. I struggle a lot with the heat and humidity that Summer brings and look forward to this time of the year when evenings draw in and the muted sunlight casts shadows in the trees around our house.

This year Autumn brings its own promise – it’s the first Autumn in a long time where I have the choice to remain under the warm blankets in the morning rather than rushing into the Sydney traffic to get to work. 

I am blessed to be in this position, where I can luxuriate in my warm dressing gown, sipping a hot cup of tea on the lounge and not bothered by deadlines and meetings to attend.

I reflected on this this morning as I sat back listening to the kookaburras and their distinctive laugh outside in the trees, heralding impending rain.

One of my five cats climbed on my lap to knead the warm softness of my dressing gown. They too are enjoying this new arrangement and the chance to be cosseted and cuddled whilst purring and sharing my newly relaxed personal state. 

Some of my friends have asked me if I miss work. Not at the moment. The hospitals at this time of the year are generally gearing up for the Easter break which inevitably heralds the start of the cold and flu season. Ambulances jostle for space in overcrowded emergency departments and managers worry about providing staff and space to cater for the needs of the community, demands that grow each year as our population ages. 

I don't miss it but I feel sympathy for those I have left behind while I wrestle with my new life and plan the days ahead.It’s almost two months into my gap year and time to get into a routine which honours my pledge to complete my memoir. 

I’m writing about a time in my life when I was a young nurse working in Iraq. I was working at the Ibn Al Bitar hospital in Baghdad when Saddam Hussein annexed Kuwait on August 2^nd 1990 and closed the airport in Baghdad. 

Thousands of westerners working in Iraq were prevented from leaving. Although Saddam allowed women and children to leave the following month, myself and hundreds of other female nurses from Ireland and the UK were not allowed to leave. 

We were hostages although Saddam preferred to call us his guests. It was mid-December before I was allowed leave Baghdad. This was approximately one month before operation Desert Storm, the first war to have TV coverage almost 24/7. 

There are very little reports in the world wide media about females being held hostage although it was well known in Ireland at the time. I have finally read some of the newspaper clippings my sister kept for me in Ireland during the hostage crisis.

Although I’ve had these scrapbooks for almost 28 years I haven’t been able to bring myself to read them up until recently. Why? I feared the feelings they might ignite within me. Feelings that I am now ready to deal with and write about. Feelings that can now be expressed without my mind dealing with work related concerns and deadlines. They can finally be released and processed through the power of my pen.

Over the past few weeks memories have been composting in my mind as I sort out what to write and how to write it. In writing jargon I'm a 'pantser' and not a 'plotter' which means I write whatever comes to mind rather than plotting out a course. Structure will come later once I write the bones of the story.

So, this Autumn I am grateful not only for the change of season but also for the change in my life circumstances. 

I can devote time to composting memories, reading, learning the art of creative writing and surrounding myself with fellow memoir writers. 

More importantly I will be working my way towards the end of my first draft of the manuscript. 

As the clock will be turned back this weekend for daylight savings so too will I be turning the clock back to 1990 and revisiting memories of that time.

Coffee and creativity

                                          Photo by Hannah Wei on Unsplash


My daily cappuccino is still important to me. There are days where I like to head off and have a coffee alone. This is my thinking time and it is just as important to me as my reading and writing time.

During my coffee I observe people around me or let my writing ideas compost in my mind. Some days I make notes on my iphone or in a notebook. Some parts of my memoir have been written long hand in a notebook and I have been amazed at the level of detail that poured on to the page.

Two years ago we went on a road trip to South Australia and Victoria. On the way back to Sydney we spent a couple of nights in Beechworth. I fell in love with the place. It was the end of Autumn and the leaves were turning to beautiful colours of russet, yellow and copper. I didn't want to leave this beautiful retreat knowing that it would be mere days before going back to work.

My husband dropped me off in the main street of Beechworth on our last morning and took off to explore the Beechworth Gorge. I hit the nearest coffee shop and just sat drinking in the views and the solitude with my cappuccino. Within minutes a poem started to form in my mind. I hadn't written poetry since I was a teenager so I let the moment flow from my mind to my notebook.

This is the poem that emerged titled "Beechworth"

There is a place locked in my mind
Where joy abounds and fears unwind
With daily worries gnawing at my core
Within this place I retreat to store
Another day, another time, to focus on this place sublime.

A coffee cup may not mean much
But in its warmth I get to touch
The joys that I have stored to reach
On days when my mind loves to preach
Of worries made to test my skills.

I intended to absorb the hills
Of green and gold and russet too
The Winter chill brings hope anew
That one day we will return to live and breathe
The place within my mind will no longer grieve.

Here's to many more cups of coffee and flows of creativity as I revisit my memoir in the coming months.

Cruel Summer

On Sunday night I went to see Bananarama at the Enmore Theatre in Sydney. You are never too old to bop along to girl bands as far as I'm concerned. Certainly not on an adult gap year. My niece Helen came along with me and despite our difference in age and growing up on different continents our shared love of the group bridged those differences.

I had one caveat with my niece during the concert- if we both felt like getting up and dancing we would. No judgement, no fear of feeling silly. And we both did - dancing with abandon and joy. The entire audience danced, all caught up in the moment of remembering our teenage years (well teenage for me anyway). The heat and sweat mingling with our voices as we sang along with the group hoping perhaps to be chosen as a replacement for Siobhan Fahey (Bananarama is now a duo).

The opening beats of Cruel Summer was my cue to jump to my feet unleashing my inner teenager.
I was immediately transported back to my student nurse days in Dublin in the Summer of 1983 when the song was released. As an 18 year old the world was my oyster. I had just finished my first six months of PTS (preliminary training student) and only if you made the grade were you allowed continue nursing.

The Summer of 83 was quite warm by Irish standards and an image popped into my mind of a lovely outfit I had bought. White T shirt, sky blue pants and matching waist coat with a straw hat. I was quite the bees knees. That outfit on my size eight body drew quite a few wolf whistles walking past building sites on O'Connell Street (back then it was taken as a compliment).

Fast forward thirty six years to the Enmore Theatre and I have come full circle from those student nurse days. My career spent nursing is on hold at the opposite side of the world to where it started.
I have worked in Dublin, London, Belfast, Baghdad, Saudi Arabia before settling in Sydney in 1994.

I have been a bedside nurse, Clinical Nurse Specialist, Clinical Nurse Consultant, Nursing Unit Manager, Nurse Manager, Project Manager and more recently a Director of Nursing and Midwifery. A career spanning thirty six years that my 18 year old self could never have imagined in her wildest dreams. And I have chosen to hit the pause button on that career. Courageous or crazy? Who knows.
I'm still a nurse at my core with a writer hoping to emerge like a butterfly from a chrysalis.

A friend asked me how it felt waking up the first Monday after finishing work.

Panic at first at the thought of being late for work then a slow realisation that work was in the past.

Exhaustion as the act of leaving a job can be as stressful as starting a new one.

Excitement at the thoughts of having a break and not knowing where this gap year might take me.

Finally, a feeling of joy when our little dog Bonnie jumped up on my lap to lick me and be cuddled. Every other morning she had watched me rushing out the door with that sad dog face that little white fluffy dogs have perfected and scratch on your heart every time you leave without them.

As Cruel Summer gave way to Robert De Niro's Waiting I remarked at how lithe and supple the Bananarama duo are as they danced to each song. Definitely a contrast to my hip wiggling hoping my back and knees wouldn't give in. Helen remarked that they must be close to sixty - a quick google search ensued - 57 in contrast to my 54. Yes, but they must have personal trainers Helen reasoned when she saw the look on my face. Inside I felt like 18 but my body reminded me the next day that I'm definitely 54. Some moves are best left to teenagers I guess.

Robert De Niro may not be waiting but Bonnie the Bichon is and it's time to catch up on some cuddles.

Welcome to my adult gap year

PLEDGE

Last New Year's Eve , instead of making a resolution that wouldn't come to fruition my pledge to myself was that 2019 would be the year that my health and well-being would be a priority.

The end of 2018 was a sense of relief. It had been a difficult year with the death of my eldest brother and my mum within a few months of each other. Six months of sciatica followed which floored me mentally and physically leaving little time to grieve. Physical and mental pain melded into one. Concentration on anything apart from the here and now was impossible.

2019 opened with promise and with a blank page. The only template needed was within me and this brought a sense of re invigoration. My sciatica had finally diminished and I felt normal again.

Fast forward four days into the New Year and the Summer flu hit. I wish I could say that I was flat on my back but I wasn't. The cough that accompanied me in that week even kept the dog awake at night. I took myself out to the lounge where I could sleep sitting up and bark away to my hearts content. The pieces that had come together in my life on January 1st fell apart again and my pledge from New Year's Eve was an echo in my head. It was like the universe was testing me and goading me - my body heard the message loud and clear.

So I resigned from my job and finished work two weeks ago. Thanks to a wonderfully supportive husband and daughter my adult gap year has begun.

My new career for the next twelve months will consist of nourishing my soul doing fun things; looking after my health and well being; catching up on reading and completing the first draft of my memoir. My adult gap year has begun!

Thank you for coming along on the adventure - there is no manual to follow apart from living and loving life and relishing each moment of the journey.

Photo by Chad Madden on Unsplash